


Cinnamon Rolls

by isarose



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Blood, Friendship, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:33:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isarose/pseuds/isarose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The growth of Zack and Cloud's (something-deeper-than) friendship.  They are too good for this world, too pure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hurting Heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning.

“Let go home.” Zack's heavy footfalls on the gangway ring like clashing steel, the frosty downwash from the idling rotor buffeting him as he boards. The weight of Angeal's sword is unbearable. He rests it on his lap once he sits, stares into his stricken reflection within its burnished surface. His fists clench as his numbed mind comes back into focus, comes to grips with what's just happened. Turning over and again what he's done, what he _could_ have done; what paths they've taken to get here, what paths they could have taken to lead them away from this...dead end.

His teeth clench, his jaw works as he tries to keep the tears at bay, his vision blurring in spite of him. He can hear, over the whining motor and whirring blades, Tseng speaking through his PHS to some higher up 'sir.' “Hewley.” bits and pieces, “dispatched.” His gaze falls on Zack and flicks away as quickly as he realizes Zack's staring, glaring, back. The Turk lowers his voice, but Zack's ear still snags, “psychological debriefing.”

A gentle voice from the other side of him interrupts his eavesdropping. He turns his head just slightly to the left, catching the blonde trooper in his peripheral vision. The helicopter's first aid kit is in his hands, and he's staring, hesitating, apprehensive in the fiercely glowering face of this hurting SOLDIER. Still, he speaks up again, a little louder this time, a little surer, “You're bleeding.”

Zack knows it, can feel it; the warm blood dragging down his jaw, his neck, into his shirt. It's the least of his worries. He tries to laugh it off, like he's always ever done, but all that exits is a bitter scoff. “I'm fine,” his words thud dully in his own ears. He drags the leather-covered back of his hand against the slash in his skin to mop up the blood. It only splits open further, deeper, crossing Angeal's cut with one of his own. Wounds upon wounds. The pain just brings him back to that first blow his mentor had dealt.

Cloud hisses as if feeling Zack's hurt as he sees the wound grow. In a sudden swell of pluck, he guides the SOLDIER's bloodied hand away and pops open the first aid kit. Quick fingers begin to tear into the gauze packets, but falter and jump when Zack suddenly barks, “I said I'm fine!” He's not sure if he's talking to Cloud, Tseng, or himself, but it's louder, and angrier than he even knew he felt. It ricochets within the metal cabin, and he feels the weight of Tseng's gaze on him again. The wince in Cloud's skyblue eyes makes him cast is own back down to meet his dim reflection's. The blood from his jaw drips down from his chin, splattering in small bursts on the blade.

Cloud's no stranger to this biting grief. He's both given and received it, too much of it throughout his childhood. His right hand abandons the kit, reaches, hesitates, and finally lands ever so gently against Zack's nearest shoulder, in the space between his pauldron and his neck. It's a sensation so alien to Cloud. He can't remember the last friendly touch he's given or received – was it the goodbye hug from his mother? He can't remember the one before that, either. It almost feels monumental, but Zack just acknowledges it with just brief cock of his head. 

The Turk watches, and Cloud is certain after two seconds that this is awkward and weird, but he can't think of anything else to say or do to soothe this pained SOLDIER, who'd been nothing but kind and sweet and almost a friend, so he keeps his hand there. Where they meet has grown warm. He pretends not to notice the tears beginning to fall and mingle with the blood on the sword, but his fingers grip and knead just a bit firmer. When Zack sniffles and wipes his nose with his right forearm, he offers one of the gauze pads as a tissue with his other hand. Zack doesn't take it, but he doesn't shout about it either.

Cloud doesn't try asking again, he just presses the rejected gauze against the wound in Zack's jaw, covering the seeping gash, the split skin and muscle and the barely-there glint of white bone beneath. He's awfully gentle, trembling just a bit, and Zack can't bother or bare to stop him. Zack flinches at the immediate contact, but remains still as the pressure grows. He remains staring at the mess he's made on the blade.

Blood-filled gauze after another, the flow from Zack's wound is finally staunched for the moment, but Cloud murmurs - heard above the noise only because of his closeness - that Zack will probably need stitches if he doesn't want a scar. He at last oh so gingerly stretches a length of gauze down and surgical tape around the edges. Between the smell of blood and the rough northern air rocking the helicopter, his stomach is roiling, and he's almost a pale shade of green. Packing up the mess and kit, he heaves a sigh and turns away, willing down a sudden and belated wave of nausea.

It passes without incident, and when he turns back to Zack, Zack is staring back. Their eyes, Zack's watery and red, meet just briefly, and Cloud can hardly unravel every nuance of remorse and sorrow behind it, but it's heartbreaking. He replaces his hand where it was, and they sit the rest of the journey in relative silence. Zack sniffles from time to time, wiping furiously at any stray tears. A blossom of blood spreads over the bandage on his jaw.

They land, Cloud's hand slips away, and the warmth is gone. The engine winds down. Cloud stands, wavering just a bit, gathers his helmet and makes to disembark after Tseng. Zack doesn't make any effort to move, hoping to delay the inevitable. Cloud stops before him, suddenly grasps around one of the fists resting on the blood- and tear-soaked sword. “Take care, Zack.”

His words echo in the growing silence between them. As Cloud gives one last squeeze, Zack glances up just in time to catch that furrowed brow and compassionate gaze. Something about Zack's own face must still carry some of that furious grief, because Cloud clears his throat, withdraws his hand, nods and utters a quiet, professional, “Sir.” He quickly turns, stuffs the helmet on his head, and leaves.

Zack rubs at the absence of Cloud's hand, and can't help but feel an extra tug at his aching heartstrings that he can't quite register amidst the whole of his hurt, that he can't quite understand yet.

Once he finds the will to move his numb body, he steps out to an entourage. Tseng and Director Lazard still their quiet conversation at the sight of him. Sephiroth stands impassive beside the director, but Zack can see the pain in his guarded gaze. He knows what the look for. Dr. Munan, SOLDIER's chief clinical psychologist, squints at Zack as if to peer directly through his skull.

Cloud is gone. Likely whisked away for debriefing by his own superior officers. That heartstring strums tender again, and adds to the symphony of hurt. That can't be the last he sees of him. This can't be the way things are left off. He has to find him. He needs apologize to the trooper who'd been nothing but kind and sweet and almost a friend. He must turn around in this dead end. Zack can't stand another sad ending.


	2. Hold Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's serendipity that brings Cloud back into his life, well before he could have ever sought him out.

The next few days are shrouded in mourning. Zack remains uncharacteristically withdrawn and cheerless. Even as he begins to shrug out from beneath its weight, imagines Angeal clapping him on the back and telling him to stop feeling sorry for himself and to get back to it, it's with a heart as heavy as his sword.

Walking down the lines, measuring each group of Army non-commissioned officers and and third class SOLDIERs, his eye can't help but catch it. “STRIFE,” big and bold on the name tape at the breast of his uniform. That striking surname stuck with him well before Zack even knew his unique given name. 

Finding him here, of all places. A small quirk of a smile spreads on his face. It feels a bit foreign for a moment, before the muscle memory of a thousand past grins kicks back in. It only grows when the infantryman seems taken aback by his private words of encouragement, and he has to bite it back to compose himself for his speech. He sobers completely when he thinks of who he is replacing.

The words come easily to him. Just thinking of something Angeal would say, of something Angeal would be proud of, and of what these men need to hear; it all feels natural. It's a good thing, too. Sephiroth certainly is not world-reknown for his inspirational speeches. Someone has to fill the gap. Someone has to bear the heart and soul and dreams and honor of SOLDIER.

As the sortie gears up for deployment, as the squads and platoons file off at the commands of their superior officers, Zack beelines and bullies through the crowd. A needle in a haystack sounds easier to find than one particular helmeted trooper in a sea of other helmeted troopers. He gets a little closer to where he's last seen him, cups his hands around his mouth, and yells for the world to hear, “Cloud! Private Cloud Strife!”

At least two dozen heads turn, if only because he's shouting, but Zack immediately knows Cloud when he sees him. It's his mouth screwing in confusion more than the rest, the army-trained stiffening of his shoulders at the sound of his name, the hesitant step he takes toward Zack. If there were any doubt that Cloud misheard, or that he wasn't the particular Cloud Strife the SOLDIER was looking for, it vanishes when Zack bounds toward him. Cloud's arm snaps up in salute, “Sir!”

“Don't give me that,” Zack grins and bats down his hand, and Cloud shifts into an at-ease stance. Clearly, the kid is all-business when surrounded by his peers and SOs, and Zack can respect that. Well, he lets it slide, anyway. Confusion remains painted over Cloud's face, and Zack continues, “Hey, listen. I just wanted to say, about, you know, the last time, our last mission,” he's not usually so tongue-tied, “I'm sorry-”

“It's okay,” Cloud cuts in quickly, but gently, his stance easing as he leans in. The troops are still filing out past them, and most are turning to look in on this clandestine conversation between two very different ranks and branches of the ShinRa military. Zack seems nervous, straining, and Cloud throws him a lifeline.

“It's not,” Zack huffs, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck. He's got to get it all off his chest, deployment or not. “Not really. You were just trying to patch me up, and I practically bit your head off, and I'm sorry. You know, it was just,” he sighs, shifts his feet, looks away, “a bad time. It was nothing you did or anything. I'm just sorry, is what I'm trying to say.” 

“And I'm trying to say it's okay,” Cloud offers something like a smile, “Really. I understand.” His eyes flick to the scar on his jaw, already fully healed, but Zack wouldn't know it. “I'm just glad you're, um, feeling better-”

“Ladies!” a booming voice cuts in, one of the Army's colonels popping into the conversation. “Am I interrupting your little tea party? Are there enough scones to go around? I hope your panties are clean, 'cause we've got to move, move, move!” Cloud is snapped to attention again as the colonel's shouts steadily beat down towards him until he's shouting by his ear.

“Yes, sir-”  
“Hold on!”

Cloud and Zack speak at the same time, and suddenly Cloud is stuck. As an Army infantryman, the colonel's in his direct chain of command, but Zack doesn't seem done with him yet, even as the colonel turns to him with a small vein beginning to bulge at his temple. “What's that, SOLDIER?” Zack is unfazed.

“We're discussing a recent, very important, pivotal,” what other adjectives does Lazard use? “vital mission, colonel, in which I was his direct superior officer,” that's fudging on the facts a bit, since Tseng was on point, but okay. “I just need to get the facts straight with it, before he goes. Just give us a second.” Zack stares pointedly at the man when he doesn't budge, “It's top secret. There was Turk stuff, too. Call my director if you need the clearance.”

The hanger is all but empty of soldiers now, only aviation regiment crewmen beginning preparations. The Gelnika airships' engines begin warming up. The airship Cloud has yet to board remains open, with all of his platoon watching this scene unfold. The colonel steps back, and continues to do so as Zack continues to stare and nod until the colonel's at a distance Zack deems sufficient. He gives him a thumbs up and turns back to a mortified Cloud.

The colonel, a whole platoon, and he's sure the security cameras are all watching, so puts on his most serious face, and deepens his voice into his best Lazard impression, “This is super-serious mission talk time.” It cracks him up inside that Cloud seems to take him seriously, leaning forward conspiratorially. Zack wishes he could see the eyes beneath that helmet; he's sure they're wide and wondering now. He's glad he can't, though. He's sure he'd slip seeing it. Zack leans in, too, “We should hang out sometime, so I can make it up to you. We can get a bite to eat or something.”

This is by far the most surreal moment Cloud's faced up to now. He's expecting his pants to vanish any moment now, spiders to pour from Zack's eyes, and suddenly the SOLDIER examinations are _right this minute_ and he's not ready. But the moment passes, and none of those things happen, and Zack's eyebrows jolt up with anticipation of his answer.

“Are you serious?” Cloud finally musters, still reeling. There's no way a SOLDIER, a SOLDIER _First Class,_ would actually want to give him the time of day.

Zack's eyebrows drop back down into a faux-stern furrow, “Super-serious.”

Cloud almost laughs, but he quickly covers it up with a fake cough, and then he plays along, donning his own frown. Zack can see the smile lurking beneath. “Okay, yeah.” Any semblance of a smile vanishes. “But I've got a three-month deployment in Wutai.” As if it weren't obvious, given where they are, what they're holding up.

“That's fine, I've got a stupid mandatory leave thing, so I'll be gone, too.” Zack waves it off, but his own good humor fades a bit. Three months sure is a while. “But definitely later.” Cloud nods earnestly, and a grin threatens to bubble up on Zack's face. The corners of his mouth struggle to keep it at bay. This pseudo-serious silliness is getting to him; he hasn't had this much fun in a while.

“Okay. Later.” Cloud snaps to a perfect salute to play up the professionalism despite holding up an entire fleet of airships for something so frivolous. Zack Fair is really something else. “I've really got to go now, though, or I'll spend the next three months doing push-ups.”

“Yeah, yeah, get outta here,” Zack breaks his super-serious facade, grinning madly and tossing him a lazy two fingered salute. They both turn to leave, but Zack suddenly turns and shouts, “Hey, Cloud!”

Cloud stops short, even though the furious colonel, gesturing apoplectic as he shouts into a radio, is leading and carrying on toward the airship.

“Take care!” Zack has to shout as the airships' engines roar to life. He gives Cloud another, more vigorous salute, and Cloud smiles, shaking his head. Zack can't hear his answer, but he sees Cloud's mouth move into something like, “You, too;” or maybe “Tutu,” or “Woo-hoo,” but Zack's pretty sure it's the first one.

Cloud walks on to certain doom. There's no doubt he's going to get a reprimand for this, regardless of whether or not it was his fault. And he's certainly not surprised when boarding to a cacophony of catcalls and innuendos. Even though that bubble of happiness is starting to deflate, and Cloud's realizing that in three months time SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair probably won't even remember this moment or him or their impromptu plans, he still has to keep his lips in check, fight off the mirth from his face.

He sits back, helmet meeting the metal wall behind him with a thunk as he recalls Zack's words to him in formation. His heart is still beating double-time. He can almost believe Zack's words. He can almost tell himself that once he makes SOLDIER himself, he might at least have a friend in Zack. There's a chink in his armor where Zack's smile slashed through.

Zack clamps his hands over his ears as the airships tear out into the sky. He's sure Cloud will have no need for well-wishes. It's just post-war occupation and disarmament. Still, there's lingering resentment in Wutai. Tensions are high. He'll text Cloud from time to time, make sure he's okay.

Zack stops short on his way out, and an officer walking behind him almost runs into him. The other man steers away, muttering about meat-head SOLDIERs. Zack pays him no mind as he groans and laces his fingers behind his head, bringing his elbows down around him. How could he forget to get Cloud's PHS number?


	3. Enlightenment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their paths cross again, their fated threads weaving together.

Zack and Sephiroth, ShinRa's champions of the Wutai War, accompany a veritable battalion of engineers, makologists, and geologists, heralded by President Shinra himself. Officially, the war heroes are there to guard these highly esteemed ShinRa minds and the very crown of the company. Unofficially, their return to their conquered battlegrounds is just to rub salt into the war-torn wounds of the Wutai people and to burn in the image of ShinRa's victory worldwide. 

The Wutai province has long since been deemed the epicenter of mako concentration on the island nation. Every other feudal lord and province fell apart under ShinRa's weight like links in a rusting chain. The more fertile lands and denser populations of the north meant more deeply entrenched strongholds, a far more formidable army, and decades of conflict. Just two months into post-war operations, the region is now securely occupied, well patrolled, and completely disarmed. Now it's just a matter of laying out the plans, building up the walls. It's finally time to suck up that green gold from these bloodsoaked lands, recoup ShinRa's losses, and rake in the gil.

And this is it. The perfect spot. Distant mountains and rolling hills, brilliant blue skies reflecting in a glittering lake. A gentle breeze stirs ripples into the sea of verdant grass. This valley thrums with life, pulses with an unseen magnetism. Legend tells it's the very place Da-Chao achieved enlightenment.

It is the mako hotspot of the region. It is perfect place for the Wutai reactor.

A temporary base is erected, bustling with all the energy of ShinRa's HQ. Constant foot patrols and humvees trafficking scientists, soldiers, and supplies begin to grind down the grass. Measurements are taken, supplies are gathered. Trash and waste begins to pile up on the other side of the valley, a make-shift dump. The head honchos finally arrive to marvel at their soon-to-be splendor.

The spoils of war. It doesn't sit well with Zack. Any lasting pride in his victory is soured at the sight of it. He doesn't have any say or sway in the matter, though. All he can do is all he's ever done: as he's told. And Zack follows his orders, stands around and looks pretty as ShinRa press videographers and photographers capture the highlights of the President's visit. President Shinra and retinue, posing over the plans, definitely deciphering exactly what they mean. Posing with the leading engineer, definitely understanding all the big words she uses. Posing with the 1:20th scale model of the state-of-the art mako reactor, projected to pump ten fold more than the previous generation, definitely President Shinra's idea.

It finally ends when Zack is seeing sparks of light behind his eyelids and the afterimages of the flashbulbs in his vision. In honor of their grand scheme coming to fruition, there's a richly catered banquet; all the president's favorite dishes, of course. The top dogs and fat cats are wining and dining, schmoozing and celebrating. Zack needs some fresh air. It smells too much like bullshit around here. Sephiroth, a silent shadow behind the guffawing president, shoots him a disapproving look as Zack begins to leave. Zack gestures vaguely, miming completely fabricated hand symbols and facial expressions as if, all combined, it was valid excuse to leave. Sephiroth doesn't bother trying to decipher Zack; he that gave up long ago.

Zack sets off for the lake, weaving through the growing maze of field tents and temporary bungalows as housing for the guards, scientists, incoming workers. Pop-up warehouses filled with just the first few shipments of parts and machinery. Sentries makes their rounds around him, and guards are posted at even intervals. Zack nods with acknowledgment to the salutes he passes every three feet. He doesn't make it to the lake. He stops short in front of small warehouse, turns after hearing of the many 'sirs'. He's only heard it a handful of times, but he knows that voice.

The guard immediately knows he knows, even tries to duck his head. It's too late.

“Hey, Cloud!” Zack perks up, leaning down to get a better look at the bottom half of the guard's face. “What's the deal? First of all, I told you to stop 'sir'ing me.” He turns to stand beside him, leans back against the bungalow wall where Cloud is posted. “Didn't even know you were here. Don't even say 'hi,' or anything, I see how it is,” he offers Cloud a mock pout.

Cloud frowns and shrugs, “I have to 'sir' you," it's an odd verb, but he goes along with Zack's neologism, "and I can't talk. I'm on duty.” His feet shift nervously beneath him as he utters under his breath, “I didn't even think you'd remember me.” He's certainly pleasantly surprised that Zack recognized him, but now more than a little conflicted. He really doesn't want another month of double shifts from his SOs and harassment from his peers if he gets caught up in Zack's wake of disorderly conduct again. He doesn't want to push Zack away, either.

"Of course I'd remember you, didn't I say we'd get together again? Geez, what do you take me for?" Zack can only see the up-tilt of Cloud's helmet, but he smiles down at him anyway. There's a concerned frown on the trooper's face, and Zack feels he has to let him know he's only giving him a hard time. Zack gives a passing sentry another nod when he's saluted. Cloud still doesn't respond, so Zack presses, “So, you can't talk, not even to other soldiers or anything?”

“Not unless in the line of duty.” Cloud keeps his voice low and answer curt, recited verbatim.

“Not even when it's super-serious mission talk?” Zack sees a bit of a smirk grip at the corner of Cloud's lip and presses on, “How've you been?” It vanishes as quickly as it came.

Cloud shrugs again, struggles within the pull between his duty and Zack. Finally, he mutters a sullen, “Fine.” A beat passes before he remembers he has to return the favor. “How are you? Did you enjoy your leave?”

Zack groans out an exasperated breath, “It was _so boring._ Just a couple of days, but basically a lot of _this._ Staring at the walls. Most of my buddies were out on missions and stuff.” But at least had the time to visit with Aeris. And he got well acquainted with the psychologist after his mandatory reevaluations. “Turns out they've floated my _'leave'_ leave a couple of months because of this thing and, you know, SOLDIER's swamped with...stuff.” Losing two critical First Class SOLDIERs to desertion and death and trying to recover and restructure the Corps kind of stuff.

“Oh,” Cloud isn't sure how else to answer. He fidgets with his rifle, adjusts it to his other arm. 

Zack watches him from the corner of his eye. He folds his arms, gets down to business. “Really, though, what's up? Something's up. I didn't cause you a lot of grief, did I?”

Another shrug. Zack's sensing a pattern. “No, it's alright.” Zack kind of did, though. Technically, the humiliated colonel and every officer on the way down the chain caused him a lot of grief, but only because Zack pushed the first domino. Still, he can't bring himself to hold anything against the SOLDIER. “I guess I'm just tired.” Another shift of his feet. He falls quiet, but Zack urges him with a rotating hand. “These past couple of months...” His sentence dies in its infancy and rots in his throat. He can hardly put thought to what he's feeling, much less words. 

How can he tell Zack about the sheer force of the despair and disdain and defeat in the people's eyes? About the worn and weary former soldiers, maimed and lamed for life? About the widows and children that cry when they strip and search their houses as they confiscate all materia and slotted weapons; some, the last remnants of the men they've already lost to ShinRa once? Heirlooms that they'll never share again? About the constant watch for the widows and mothers and children that have nothing left but to seek vengeance for their fallen and broken families? They fight with a fury never seen before; not for love of country, but with boiling wrath.

He glances towards Zack, red-hued through his visor. Can he even talk to Zack about this? In the months since meeting Zack and turning over their brief time together, his pessimism has been prying open each moment shared and word uttered between them and picking each one apart. This could be his first friend since leaving Nibelheim, and he can't screw this up. Yet each heartbeat crawls to an aching thud when he wonders if he's deluding himself. They've really only just met, haven't they? They're just too different, right? Can they really be friends?

Zack can only see the down-turned corners of Cloud's mouth, the sullen slump of his shoulders, but he can hear it in Cloud's voice all the same. “It's tough.” Cloud starts a little when shaken free from the depths of his thoughts, but he doesn't offer any other reaction. Maybe for the sake of plausible deniability if Zack isn't talking about what he's actually feeling. Zack leans his head a little closer to Cloud's and speaks lowly, “Sometimes it's tough wondering if you're doing the right thing, huh?”

He can't see the eyes flicking up to Zack's face, but there's the tiniest flinch through Cloud's body, and Zack knows he's right on the money. He sees that doubt in the Cloud, because he knows it himself; has been there, is still there. His eyes turn down, brow furrows a bit, then he tilts his head against the wall and turn up towards the sky. “Why do you want to join SOLDIER?”

The suddenly change in topic catches Cloud off-guard, and he hesitates. “I don't know,” after a while, “I guess, to be a hero, or something.” It sounds good, and it's partly true. Heroes like SOLDIERs, like Sephiroth, are respected, and admired, loved by everyone. No more the cold shoulders or kicks in the teeth, no more chastising, despising, ostracizing... There's no way he could share that with Zack, either. Zack seems too pleased with his more simple answer.

“Yeah, me, too,” Zack smiles, briefly. “But it's not always that easy.” He kicks his feet a little in dirt, tilts his head back to turn to the sky. “It's clear cut sometimes, if what you're doing is right, but other times...” Like spreading progress and prosperity to a country with backwards and brutal war. Like crafting imperfect 'perfect soldiers' and then burying them in the ashes of their carpet-bombed village. “You just gotta do your best with what you got, and hope it all turns out for the better, I guess. Hope it's for the greater good, in the long run.” He lets out a heavy sigh, turns his head against the wall, back to Cloud. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Cloud voice cracks around the corpse of his former words, and he clears his throat. It's suddenly feels a little easier to breathe, if it's the same air as someone who understands.

A rueful smile spreads on Zack's lips, "There's nothing heroic about this," a general gesture with his direct confession, one he knows Cloud feels the weight of, too, "but, we'll be heroes one day." He punctuates that promise with a single firm nod of his head, and he offers his hand to Cloud, to shake on this pact. Cloud grasps at it limply, but Zack seals their deal with a solid squeeze of Cloud's hand, and he smiles. "We will, okay?"

“Sure,” Cloud's voice is barely above a whisper. The corner of his mouth tilts a little, but it withers. It's still hard to believe it, just now.

The silence grows between them, the noise of Shinra's shindig as all those very-important-people cheer over a toast trickles in. Zack plasters a smile and jabs his thumb in a general direction, “Come on, let's ditch this place. I was gonna check out the lake.”

“I can't. I'm _on duty,_ ” Cloud repeats himself, his free hand gestures to the spot on which he's standing.

“To what, guard this shack?” The thumb turns over and points to the building behind them.

“There's machinery inside.” Cloud would roll his eyes if Zack could see them.

“Well, it's not going anywhere.” Zack shifts and lifts from the wall enough to turn his body towards Cloud before leaning against it again. His pauldron punches straight through the drywall thin enough to be corrugated cardboard. “Oops.”

Cloud gasps, shoves Zack's shoulder and it's guard out and away from the wall, and begins inspecting the damage. “Oh, no.” A large chunk has been gouged into it, but he rubs at the edges, like he might erase it. He mutters a few words Zack is sure must be curses in Cloud's mothertongue.

“Hey, I'm sure no one will notice-”

“It's a giant hole!” Cloud's hands clutch at the top of his helmet.

“It's just a couple inches. Like four or five, tops.”

“And they're going to blame _me_!” Cloud huffs and puffs and groans out, “They're going to kick me out of the Army!” He gasps again at a horrifying new thought, “In front of _Sephiroth._ ”

Zack stops trying to pull out the chunk that's been punched through out from hole when he hears this, snorting and unable to contain his chuckle behind a fist. The hypothetical situation Cloud postulates just kills him: Stop the party! We've got to court martial this trooper because of a hole in the wall!

“It's not funny!”

Another guard, an Army captain, starts to pass by, looking in on the drama. Zack thinks fast and leans nonchalantly against the wall with his hand covering the hole. The captain salutes to Zack, and Cloud salutes to the captain, rifle rattling as he tries to bring it up against his shoulder in perfect posture. To play the part of Mr. Cool-Guy-Just-Leaning-Against-The-Wall-Nothing-To-See-Here, Zack points a finger gun at the guy, and smirks, “Hey.”

The captain surveys the two who are acting anything but naturally. He just frowns at Zack, but turns to Cloud, “ _Is_ there something funny here, private?”

The damaged wall suddenly gives beneath Zack's hand, and half of his forearm smashes through the drywall. All three are completely quiet. Zack slowly pulls his hand from the hole, dust and dry wall sprinkling off. He looks at the hand, then the damage, then the captain, a sheepish grin on his face, “Man, that is some shoddy craftsmanship, right?” He chuckles when no one else does, and rubs the back of his neck nervously.


	4. Call Me

Sephiroth was so impressed that Zack had identified critical security flaws in the base's infrastructure that he gave Zack, newly minted SOLDER First Class, the privilege of staying behind to coordinate the region's stationed SOLDIER Corps with those of the Turks and the Army. Because meetings and conferences and writing and reviewing reports are a few of Zack's favorite things.

Wutai nationalists, rogue Crescent Unit combatants, and AVALANCHE still pose a threat, and it's essential they assign each branch's forces at key _blah blah blah blah blah-_ Zack's eyes fight for focus as he watches Veld's finger trace something probably important into the map of the Wutai region. No wonder Sephiroth's so grumpy and prematurely grey.

It's been days of this and Zack's itching on the inside. After all plans are drafted and all orders are relayed, he at last finds respite outside, in the fresh air, on the edge of the lake he finally gets to see. The rustling of the meadow and the lapping shore of the water's edge blend with the distant clanking of metal and machinery, shouted orders, thumping boots, and rolling wheels. Zack takes what he can get, though, closing his eyes and soaking in the much-missed sun.

A pair of boots shuffle across the meadow, draw closer. They stop, walk off a few steps, come back a few more, and pace back and forth in indecision. Just as Zack's about to call the guy out and ask what he wants, there's a resolute step forward and a quiet, “Hi.” That voice again. It's probably his accent that's most telling, but the timber of his voice is what perks Zack's ears the most. Zack tilts his head back, catches an upside-down view of the trooper standing a several paces away, and his face splits with a grin. A small smile emerges in return.

“Hey, man,” Zack lolls his head forward again, links his fingers behind his head and coolly closes his eyes, “I'd ask what's up, but I don't know if I should risk it. You're trouble.” His grin never wavers, belies his insincere rebuff, but Cloud is still too naive to kidding, or too experienced in rejection.

“Oh.” Cloud's boots scuff at the grass as he halts, the hand guard of the rifle casually slung on one shoulder rattles a bit in his tightening grip, “Sorry.” He vacillates, swallows something thick in his throat, before he turns to leave.

Zack leaps to his feet, “Hey, wait, I was just joking!” He rushes over, tugs back on Cloud's shoulder, brings him to a halt. Cloud's mouth is screwed tight and his head tilts warily. Zack can feel Cloud's eyes scanning his face from beneath his helmet.

“You're not funny.” Cloud conceals embarrassment with resentment, can't help falling back into some of the old habits that always had him on the defensive, that had him challenging a superior officer the moment they first met. Zack's already seen past all that, though, already knew to push through that front the moment they first met.

“Really? I think I remember getting you to laugh a couple of times.” Zack slings an arm around Cloud's neck, but the trooper's shoulders tense and hunch at the sensation. Zack jostles his arm –and the trooper beneath- a bit, unsuccessfully tries to ease some of that tension off as he starts to lead him him back towards the waterfront. The SOLDIER stops short, “Wait, you can hang out now, right?” The arm swings free from Cloud's neck, “I don't want 'interfere with your duties,'” his fingers jab out air quotes, “or whatever.”

Cloud shrugs his unburdened shoulders, “Yeah, I just got off foot patrol.” He can't be trusted to guard any more warehouses. “I've got half an hour before we start loading up and heading for the port. I saw you, and wanted to,” _say hi?_ That sounds lame, so he shrugs again, muttering, “I thought you might be sleeping or something.” Explains his barely-there greeting.

Zack beams, “If you're off, then what are you doing still wearing this?” His hands suddenly snatch the helmet from Cloud's head, eliciting a hiss and a wince at the bright sunlight no longer filtered through the visor. Cloud shields his eyes like a vampire, and Zack wonders when was the last time the blond saw the light of day. Zack ruffles out Cloud's helmet-hair with a chuckle, “There, that's better.”

Cloud ducks his head. Zack's tactile nature is tough to get used to. Every touch catches him off guard. Zack tosses the helmet to the grass and sits, patting the ground next to him. Cloud glances around, certain something is bound to go wrong again, but accepts the invitation. He sets his rifle down next to Zack's sword, which rests nestled in the grass like a mirror; reflecting a sliver of the sky, a piece of heaven on earth.

A school of fish ripple the surface of the water. Zack leans back, braced by his arms. Cloud hunches forward with his elbows on his knee guards, fingers loosely laced. The breeze stirs around them, wafting the faint stench of the temporary landfill upwind.

“Did you really get in trouble?” Cloud rubs his thumbs together, face frowning with some concern and contrition.

“Nah,” Zack leans back, bestows his most disarming smile upon Cloud. “If I were, would I be sitting here cloud-gazing?” His lips break into a cheeky grin, proud of his own pun. Cloud rolls his eyes, tugs some grass free and throws it over Zack's head. Blades drifts down over Zack's laughing mouth, and he sputters when a few find their way in. It's Cloud's turn to chuckle, and Zack retaliates with his own handful of green. Cloud learned from Zack's mistake; he turns away from the barrage and covers his face with his hands, protecting his mouth and muffling his laughter.

They quiet down as they brush the grass from their hair. The silence doesn't have a chance to get awkward. “So, are you shipping out with me, back to Midgar? I bet you're sick of field rations,” the perfect segue into roping Cloud in for dinner in the city. He's got a promise to keep. Well, the flight is eight hours, but if they leave this afternoon, they'd get back by dinner in Midgar Standard Time. It'll feel like two in the morning, but that's never stopped Zack before.

“No,” Cloud interrupts his thoughts with a weary sigh, “I'm on the transport detail. We're going to the port to bring in more machinery that's been shipped in.” One idle hand reaches down to pull at the grass again, tearing off the tops of the blades. “I've still got another month.” He is definitely sick of field rations, and the drafty temp base barracks, and the showers that go cold in a record three minutes. Mostly, though, he wants to leave and just forget all about this tour.

“Aww,” Zack whines and pouts, turning his head away in disappointment. The disapproving glare of the colossal Da-Chao carved into the distant cliff face, watching over this once-sacred valley, meets him. It kind of freaks him out. He turns back towards Cloud. The trooper is checking his PHS. They're on borrowed time.

“Your number!” Zack suddenly blurts, jerking upright and startling Cloud.

The PHS jumps in Cloud's suddenly jittery hands, and he fumbles with it for a moment before uttering an annoyed, “What?”

Zack tries pulling his own PHS from his pocket, but has to lie down and buck his hips up for a moment to fish it out. When he sits back up just as quickly as before, more grass sprinkles from his hair. “I need your PHS number." His free hand rubs the back of his neck, abashed, "I keep forgetting to get it.”

“Oh,” Cloud looks down at his own phone. His blond brows furrow as he opens it up, presses a few buttons, shuts it, turns it over, checks the underside. “I don't, uh-” Heat spreads over his face. He knows how this will look.

Zack chuckles, “Oh, you poor, backwater bumpkin," the irony is not lost on him, "Here, I'll give you mine.” He snatches Cloud's PHS, and Cloud protests. He grapples for the device, but Zack easily holds the blond at bay with one arm while goes into his contacts to add his own number. It's a cold jolt of heartache when realizes that Cloud's not embarrassed for not knowing how to operate his PHS – well, he really doesn't know, but – it's because he doesn't have any other contacts. Unless his only friends are his captain, his sergeant, and the combat operations center.

He glances at the furiously pink and scowling Cloud. “Shut up,” Cloud snaps, hoping for anger and authority, but his voice is only straining and strangled. This moment – the moment Zack, his one and only almost-friend realizes how pathetic and lonely and forsaken he is – it's choking the life out of him. The blond shoots out his hand, grasps for his phone. 

“I didn't say anything,” Zack yanks his hand away again, tries to laugh off this tense mire they're stuck in, but it falters in the face of a upset Cloud. Zack offers him a gentle, “Just hold on a minute,” but it's his still-warm eyes that have Cloud's hammering heart slowing just a bit. Zack finishes adding his number, and sends a quick message to his own PHS, which chirps in his other hand. Then he turns his back to the blond and goes into Cloud's Mail. His thumb deftly enters a memorized account.

“What are you doing?” Cloud peers over Zack's shoulder, breath puffing past Zack's ear as he leans over to see.

Zack turns back with a grin, and they're so close they almost butt heads. Cloud reels back as Zack hands over the PHS. “Welcome, fan number 7,497!”

Cloud takes it, a puzzled frown reflected on the screen, “What?”

Zack points at the PHS and the obvious, “You're fan number 7,497, of my fanclub!” He folds his arms and gives a satisfied nod, “You'll get weekly newsletters about yours truly, and there's a monthly group meeting downtown, so you can hang out with other like-minded individuals-"

Cloud balks, “I'm not going to some fanclub meeting of yours with seven thousand-”

“Well, I mean, they're not _all_ there, more like a couple dozen super-fans. I've been a couple times to sign autographs and stuff,” and be showered with attention and affection, “and there's free food, and games like 'pin-the-lips-on-the-Zack,'” Cloud looks disconcerted, and Zack clarifies, “with a _poster_ of me. And fanclub t-shirts are just 20 gil-”

“You're crazy,” Cloud shakes his head, but his lips are quirking into a bit of a smile again. Zack's mission is complete; his own grin makes a comeback. Cloud looks down at his phone, either investigating the fanclub or trying to figure out how to unsubscribe. Zack adds plaintively, “Don't join Sephiroth's fanclub, too, though, I need to catch up to his numbers. He's got about a bajillion fans, but I mean, he's been at it way longer so, of course, right?”

A blush begins to creep from Cloud's ears to his cheekbones in spite of his wry look, “Why would I join Sephiroth's fanclub?”

Zack snorts and and slaps his hands to his cheeks in mock-shock, “'Oh, no, Sephiroth's going to find out there's a hole in this wall and hate me forever!'”

Cloud seems unassuming, but he sure knows how to throw a punch - knows how to angle his fist just so to ensure his bony knuckles dig deep into the tissue- in this case, Zack's arm. It's a complete reflex honed within those scathing years of childhood vitriol, a knee-jerk reaction that got him into a lot of trouble in Nibelheim, and his early days in ShinRa. He's frozen solid, Petrified, when he thinks he's gone too far, pushed Zack away once too many, but Zack only winces and laughs, “Okay, okay! Sorry, sorry!” rubbing into the sore spot on his arm.

Blond spikes flutter as Cloud turns his head away with a relieved, and peeved, huff. He doesn't accept or offer any apology. Zack gives Cloud's arm a gentle nudge with his own fist, urging a response. “Hey, he was my childhood hero, too.” This gets Cloud to look back at him. “Yeah, what kid didn't hear of 'The Great Hero Sephiroth' and want to be just like him?”

It's a bit different with Cloud, something Cloud is sure Zack wouldn't understand, but Zack doesn't miss the blush that flushes a shade deeper. He spares Cloud, though, protects the levity of this moment by pretending not to notice. He checks his own PHS. “What time did you say you had to get back?”

Cloud gasps and scrambles to his feet, “I've got to go.” He pockets his PHS and snatches up his helmet and rifle, “I'll come get you when we're ready to leave.”

Zack turns where he's seated, shouts after him, “Just call me!” as Cloud books it back towards the base, briefly slipping on the slick turf. He's not sure if Cloud heard him. Zack flops onto his back, lies there just as he did before Cloud's arrival. He stares at the brilliantly white clouds drifting ever so slowly across the sky above. It's a beautiful sight, something he's sure an agoraphobic flower girl couldn't possibly fear, if given the chance. Still, they're not nearly as interesting as their name-bearer.


	5. lol

Every body jostles with each bump and rock the truck makes down the dirt road. It's a rather new path, carved in by supply trucks ferrying equipment to the developing reactor site from a small port to the east of Wutai. It takes Zack a fair amount of acrobatics to juggle the pack in his hands as he digs through its pockets. A victorious hand emerges with a ShinRa® SOLDIER-Strong™ protein bar. Careful fingers peel away the wrapper, keep crumbs to a minimum. He offers it to the trooper sitting across from him. Cloud developed a waxen pallor a mile back, at least from all Zack could see beneath the helmet, and it's gotten no better. He probably needs to eat something.

Cloud shakes his head. Zack breaks it in half, to seem more fair, and gives it a tantalizing wag in front of his face,“Come on.” The trooper blanches and turns away. The infantryman next to him gives Cloud a shove with his elbow and a grumbled, “You better fucking not,” urging him to face forward as he himself scoots away from the infamous private. If Strife's going to hurl, might as well get it on the SOLDIER in front of him; that'll make a great story for the rest of the squad later.

Zack frowns at the exchange. Cloud dips his head and props it, or rather, his mouth, against his two hands, elbows braced on his thighs. His breaths drag through his nostrils. His eyes close and he counts to ten, and then again.

Zack stands, or rather hunches under the truck's low ceiling, and tries to jam his butt into the too-small gap between Cloud and the other trooper, offering a breezy, “'Scuse me!” The other guy groans against the squeeze before getting up and begrudgingly taking Zack's former spot. It had been the only vacant seat after loading for a reason: it's the splash-zone. Even with the guy gone, Zack and Cloud are hip-to-hip, and Zack only leans in further. Between the straining motor of the truck, and the snap, crackle, pop of gravel beneath the tires, it's a little noisy. “What's the matter?”

Cloud just groans into his gloves and shakes his head again. Whatever happens, he must. not. barf. Not in front of Zack. Especially not _on_ Zack. Thinking about is just making it worse. Bile is beating against the back of his throat. Sweat is beading on his forehead.

Mercifully, before Zack – and his own stomach – can press any further, the truck begins to slow and makes one last abrupt turn before parking. All the others quickly file out, and Cloud wishes Zack would go with them. The vertigo from standing might be the tipping point. Yet Zack remains in his spot, by Cloud's side. The SOLDIER palms half of the bar off to the other hand, freeing one up to clasp the base of Cloud's neck. “You okay? Should I go grab a medic?”

Orders are shouted outside, and Cloud's hands release his mouth. He lets out a shaky breath, licks dry lips. He only offers a croaky, “Fine. We gotta go.” The ground wavers beneath him as he stands but swimming head aside, the crisis seems averted. He clears his throat of the bitter tingle lingering in the back before he grabs and shoulders his rifle. An effort is made to lift Zack's pack, too, but it's much heavier than the SOLDIER made it seem.

“I got it.” Zack stands and hoists the bag easily over a shoulder with one hand. Mako-blue eyes give Cloud a scouring once-over. Satisfied that Cloud seems well enough – or at least is as stubborn as usual – he gestures for Cloud to exit first as he collects his Buster Sword from the back of the truck. The motion reminds him of the bar pieces in his other hand. Not willing to let it go to waste, he stuffs one half right into his mouth as he follows after the private, hopping out of the bed of the truck.

Zack's jaw works to chew it all. It's mealy and kind of dry, tastes like stale crackers, but beggars can't be choosers. One hand and awkward fingers rewrap the rest of the bar. The haphazardly bundled thing gets shoved into the back of Cloud's scarf. Cloud yelps and reaches behind him, fishing for the intruding object. Zack starts laughing around a mouthful of food but chokes to a stop, beating a fist into his chest as it goes down the wrong pipe.

Cloud, with a weary roll of his eyes, shoves the bar into his pocket and unclips the canteen hanging from the side of Zack's pack. He unscrews the top before handing it to the floundering, frantically gesturing SOLDIER. Zack's Adam's apple bobs as he chugs down several swills, and Cloud swallows dryly. The SOLDIER swipes his forearm across his damp chin when he done, gasping a grateful, “Thanks, man.”

“It was your own fault.” Cloud pulls out the offending bar and shoves it against Zack's chest. “Next time I'll let you choke.” He tries for a stern frown, but with Zack's chuckle his lips betray him. The dry, cutting snark that kept most at arms length from Cloud only ever seems to draw Zack in. Cloud doesn't mind. It's lonely behind his walls.

Zack grabs Cloud's wrist and pushes hand and all back at him. “Keep it, save it for later.” Cloud sighs and doesn't fight it, if only because there's no time to argue. A quick glance around and he's already lost his squad. The new port is buzzing with forklifts and cranes unloading heavy machinery from Gelnika carriers, helicopters, and ship freighters. Aircraft marshallers, dock hands, and foot patrols scurry across the tarmac. His eyes at last glimpse his squad already gearing up for the rough ride back with a truck preloaded with supplies. He isn't surprised to be left behind; fully expects more demerits and disciplinary actions for his tardiness.

It's worth it. This is goodbye again; for at least another month, for as long as forever.

“I'll text you later,” Zack's words breathe a little life back into Cloud's deflating spirit. “Or mail you. If you don't beat me to it.” His grin is dazzling in the late afternoon sun. One hand claps down on Cloud's sagging shoulder, “Feel better, Cloud.” Cloud just gives a dull shrug. He's an open book to Zack, and he can't make any promises for the ride back. Zack's hand leaves his shoulder and just a shadow of its warmth remains.

Zack give him a friendly swat to his arm, “Good luck out here. Keep up the good work.” As he starts off, taking a few steps back, Cloud makes one small step towards the retreating Zack.

“See you later,” fingers grip around his rifle's strap, bracing for how pathetic he'll sound but, “right?” 

Zack's brows quirk up a little, figured the unsaid was obvious, but his mouth smiles with his words, “Of course! Later.” One cheerful wave later and all Cloud can see is Zack's back, broadsword gleaming beneath the bright sun and sky, taking that slice of heaven with him.

\---

As Cloud's insides roil with each rattle of the truck on the way back up the mountain, the PHS in his pocket chirps and buzzes against his leg. Pulling out the device, he can already feel the lactic acid building in his arms after so many punishing push ups. It takes some digging to open the application that's demanding his attention. His eyes scan the rapid-fire series of texts.

Zack: (17:36) beat you to it!  
Zack: (17:36) on the way back  
Zack: (17:37) flock of thunderbirds almost took down the chopper haha  
Zack: (17:37) got em with fira  
Zack: (17:38) they started it  
Zack: (17:39) so if it rained down fried chicken thats why lol  
Zack: (17:39) now im hungry

He would have been more amused if not for the wave of nausea that sends him scrambling for the back of the truck in a race against his stomach.

–--

They do keep in touch, but not often. Their schedules are so packed, their timezones so distant, messages are few and far between. When his PHS does chirp to life, when it's going to be a bright day, Cloud thrums on the inside waiting to see what they say. Zack will send Cloud odd bits from his misadventures, jigsaw pieces that are all the more strange – and amusing – out of context. Cloud can only ever read them in the mess tent or after lights out. The PHS' screen illuminates his silhouette beneath the thin covers of his bunk. One hand covers his smiling mouth, but quiet chuckles still puff out of his nose.

Cloud's not the best at responding. His two gil usually consists of a taciturn abbreviation or emoticon – he learns a new one with every message from Zack – or a simple 'haha.' He has no idea how Zack manages to write so much on the PHS. Cloud's brow threatens to furrow forever every time he tries to type out anything of substance with the number pad. Moreover, though, he doesn't want to bother him. Surely the SOLDIER is much busier than he, on more important missions than his. There's no point in boring him with the banalities of his grunt work; PT, endless hours of guarding this or that, eat, sleep, repeat.

In the beginning, he could hear the words in Zack's voice, could imagine them in his warm timbre, feel that easy smile just under the words. As the weeks pass, it all goes a little grey in his mind, grows quiet, fades into the distance between them. As that 'see you later' drags on later and later and further into 'never.' It chills a part of his chest that had just come to know warmth.

He does see Zack again. Maybe it could have been under better circumstances, though, because it's the very moment he's hurling his guts out onto the streets of Junon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And there's one thing you mustn't do when riding. Read!” - Cloud's Words of Wisdom


End file.
